


Any Dream Is Permissible

by CaptainLeBubbles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robin Hood Fusion, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Robin Hood: Men in Tights References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-07-29 02:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20074948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: In Sherwood Forest, The Hood and his merry band of bandits protect the people of Sherwood from the corrupt wiles of the King.In Nottingham, the Sheriff and his few most trusted lawkeepers stand between the King and the people they've sworn to protect from harm.Two people, working for the same problem, diametrically opposed from the start. Also, sometimes they kiss.





	1. Chorus (Hey Nonnie Nonnie and a-Here We Go)

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy oh boy oh boy. "Theo you have so many wips!" Yes, I know. And I'm working on them. But I've also been working on this one off and on at the same time. It's a thing. (There's another one I'm working on too. Wait'll y'all see that one.)
> 
> Anyway. This one is planned as one-shots set in this verse; there's not a specific narrative ending I'm working toward (well, incorrect, there is an "ending" planned, but, like, the story is more episodic than serial, I guess you could say). So if I get bored and stop posting updates, it should still feel complete.
> 
> Also, once upon a time I was really obsessed with Robin Hood and lore, but that was over a decade ago. The only Robin Hood I've watched in the interim since has been Men In Tights. Which is my favorite movie. Which should _immediately_ become apparent.
> 
> Enjoy.

-/-

Fire sweeps through the village, catching thatched rooves aflame as it spreads, spreads, spreads. In a village where everything is flammable one person’s fire is everyone’s problem soon enough. It is the sort of thing that unites the people in a way nothing else ever has: bucket chains are started and organized with barely a fuss, urgency taking over the usually laid-back motions of a people who rarely have any _ real _ need to hurry.

“There _ must _ be another way of doing the prologue,” a woman wails, watching her family home smoulder and slowly begin to collapse in on itself as another rain of flaming arrows assails the village, assuring that even with the efforts of the bucket chains, the village will soon be a smoking ruin.

“That’s right!” a man barks out, turning his attention to her. “Every time he makes a Robin Hood au he burns our village down!”

There was, improbably, the sound of a record scratching. The world froze, arrows halfway to rooves, cinders drifting to the sky now glowing red dots hanging suspended in space. Terrified, soot covered faces sat unmoving, staring blankly at the flames now-stilled from devouring the falling village.

_ “Sorry,” _ mumbles a man’s sheepish voice from the ether, and with a visual effect that can only be described as hitting undo a bunch of times on a computer screen, the flaming village disappears and the scene is replaced with a group of children running through the woods, shouting and laughing and firing arrows at each other.

In actuality, the bows and arrows are mere sticks bent with a bit of baling twine, the arrows sticks with leaves tied around the ends. Even if they could achieve anything like a proper shot, the children would come to no harm by being hit by them. This is, after all, just a bit of fun.

While they play, the one with the exceptionally long feather in his hat manages to corner the one with the silver sash around her shoulders. He holds his toy bow out, ready to fire one of his sticks, and then frowns.

“Actually, why should we have to be enemies?”

“Because I’m the Sheriff and you’re Robin Hood. We’re diametrically opposed.”

“But we both have the same goal, right? We’re trying to protect the people.”

“Are we? I thought the Sheriff was greedy and only wanted power and money.”

“What if he wasn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if Robin Hood and the Sheriff were both just trying to take care of the people of Nottingham and Sherwood but they both had really different ideas about how to go about it?”

Anything else they might say about this is interrupted by the appearance of Robin Hood’s mother, come to call her son home for dinner and to encourage the other children to head home as well, as it will probably be time for their dinner soon too. Their game forgotten at the promise of food, they children hurry away, leaving the question of a more friendly Robin Hood and Sheriff unanswered.

Well, unanswered for _ them, _ at least. For the reader…

-/-


	2. Chapter One: Affordable Healthcare for Saxons (and Normans)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> According to rumors, the notorious outlaw Hood is madly in love with the Sheriff's goddaughter Anathema, quite against the Sheriff's will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want it stated for the record that I tried doing research into the twelfth century for this fic, got confused, got distracted, forgot half of what I read, and then just gave up and decided that a fic that references Men In Tights as much as this one does can't possibly be expected to have a silly little thing like _historical accuracy_ be a concern. That said, I am trying. A little bit. Sort of.
> 
> I _did_ do research on glasses and can't find anything conclusive about the _availability_ of glasses, let alone smoked glasses, to the poor (or to the rich who might be robbed by outlaws and have their wealth redistributed to said poor, possibly including a pair of smoked glasses) in England in the twelfth century. However, I like the aesthetic of the hood-veil-mask variants that Crowley uses here, so it's rather moot. If I can find anything conclusive, I might introduce glasses into his rotation at some later point. We'll see what happens.

-/-

If there was one thing the people of Nottingham loved, it was gossip.

Aziraphale always told Anathema to not worry about it. It was harmless, and the rumor mill was useful when it came to obfuscation of the sort they needed, especially since he didn’t believe that everyone really believed any of the rumors anyway. They were just looking for a way to pass the time, a topic of discussion that wasn’t the weather.

It was easy for him to say, Anathema thought.  _ He _ had somehow avoided being the subject of such rumors. She suspected he’d say differently if the rumor mill started edging nearer to the truth he was trying to obfuscate.

The current rumors, and the reason for Anathema’s annoyance, were in regard to herself and the notorious outlaw, the Hood. He’d crashed Aziraphale’s banquet in honor of Lord Gabriel the night before, caused a huge commotion, joined his men in roughing up some of Lord Gabriel’s guard, and then gotten away before Aziraphale could lay hands on him.

Before causing trouble, though, he’d spent several minutes bantering with the guests of honor, including Anathema- who he had doted on while exchanging back and forth barbs with Lord and Sheriff. Anathema had allowed this at the time, carried away with the mischief of it all, but by the time she’d woken the next morning the rumor mill had churned out its latest gossip: that the Hood was in love with Lady Anathema, in open defiance of her godfather and guardian, the Sheriff.

“You mustn’t blame them, my dear,” Aziraphale said. He was sat at his desk writing a letter, and had been the entire time Anathema told him about these rumors. “They see the Hood devoting his attention to a beautiful young woman and it’s the natural conclusion for them to draw.”

“But he’s  _ your _ age,” Anathema said. “And he’s been going by that name for longer than I’ve been alive, so it’s not like they don’t  _ know.” _

“Perhaps, but he would not be the first man of advanced years to take interest in a much younger woman. I believe Lord Gabriel’s wife is not much older than you, and he and I were children together.”

Anathema snorted. “Please, everyone knows his Lady is just a cover so no one realizes he’s the Prince’s lover.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at her. “Everyone knows that, do they?”

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point.” She sighed and slouched into her seat. “So I’m just supposed to let the rumors fly?”

“There’s not really much you can do otherwise,” Aziraphale told her. “Gossip is rather like a hydra- the more you strike it down, the stronger it grows. If you protest, the people will take that as confirmation.”

“And if I confirm it?”

“Then they will take it as confirmation,” he said, amused. “People will believe what they will, and the only thing you can do is to wait for something else to catch their interest.”

“And you’re sure there’s nothing that can be done?”

“Afraid not, dear girl. Now.” He finished off the letter he’d been writing, and tucked it away into an envelope before tying it off with a bit of twine and tucking a flower from his windowboxes into the knot. “Do be a dear and deliver this for me?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just stoke those rumors more,” she muttered, but she tucked the letter into her pouch and headed down to have her horse saddled anyway.

-/-

A cry went up when Anathema neared the camp. She stopped at the bridge and waited— ten minutes, fifteen, and finally after nearly half an hour of waiting the Hood appeared. He looked menacing, but as soon as he got near enough to see who she was his entire demeanor changed and he lit up.

“Anathema!” he said. “Didn’t think you would come see me today.”

“I came bringing tidings,” she said, unwilling to speak plainly lest the wrong person hear. Hood understood what she meant, anyway, and came over to help her down from her horse.

“Newt!” he called, and another outlaw- this one tall and gangly- poured out of the undergrowth. He trotted over to them.

“Yes?”

“Take the lady’s horse somewhere it can graze and drink its fill, then come to my tent. Anathema, dear, right this way—“

He dismissed Newt from his concern and held out his arm for Anathema, leading her to the biggest tent in the camp, where he lived and slept when he wasn’t off doing outlaw things. Once inside, he flung himself down onto the cot that was his while she took a seat in the comfortable chair at other side of the tent.

“Wine?” he offered, almost as an afterthought. “I pinched a very nice bottle from the palace last night.”

“Oh yes, thank you,” though she only agreed because it forced him to get to his feet after making himself comfortable, and pour them both a glass of wine. Once she had wine in hand and bottle within reach, though, he resumed his decadent sprawl.

“You said something about tidings?”

“From Aziraphale, yes.” 

She took the letter out and handed it over, and then sat quietly while he unfolded it, tucking the flower absently into a fold in his hood before he started reading. Her guess that he was only skimming was confirmed a couple minutes later, when he folded the letter and hid it away in his clothes and returned his attention to her.

“So what’s this I hear from the local gossip? According to the people on the street, the notorious outlaw Hood is  _ deeply in love _ with the Sheriff’s own goddaugter.”

She sighed and groaned. “It’s because you  _ attended _ me so much last night, and Aziraphale was so  _ obviously _ annoyed, that it must be because you’re in love with me.”

He gaped. “But I’m old enough to be your father!”

“I know!” she cried, grateful to finally have the reaction she’d wanted.

“I used to carry you on my shoulders when you were so high!”

“I know!”

“I used to carry your  _ mother _ on my shoulders when  _ she _ was so high!”

“I know!”

“Well they’re a bunch of stupid people, aren’t they?” he huffed. “Though I suppose it’s for the best that they don’t realize their good Sheriff was only annoyed because he wanted my attention for himself.”

Her indignation sated, Anathema settled down into her chair and was trying to decide what to talk about next when the tentflap opened and Newt came in, dripping wet.

“I fell in the river,” he said, before they could ask. He gave an awkward bow. “My lady.”

“Anathema, allow me to introduce the newest member of my band, Big Newt. Newt, this is Lady Anathema.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Big Newt,” she said, and held out her hand.

“Yeah. You too.” He took it, looked like he wasn’t quite sure how to react, and gave her hand the barest of pecks. “Um, don’t let my name fool you. In real life, I’m kinda skinny.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Anathema is my goddaughter,” the Hood said from where he was still sprawled on the cot.

“Really? I thought…”

“The Sheriff is also my godfather,” Anathema said.

“And we between us share the burden of guiding and guarding her, now that her parents are in London and  _ she _ is  _ here.” _

“So the rumours in the village…”

“It’s not like we’re going to broadcast this sort of thing,” Hood said. “Anyway, the point is, Anathema is free to come and go in the camp, as she is unofficially one of our number.”

“Really?” He frowned. “Does the Sheriff know?”

Anathema and Hood shared a look. Even behind the sheer cloth that hid his face from view, and remained over his eyes even when he was in trusted company, she could still see the mirth in his gaze.

“He knows,” Anathema said, while Hood rolled off of his cot and fetched an envelope. This one was rather like the one she had just brought him: identical, in fact, apart from the garnish, which was a dark feather. She took it and tucked it away without a word, and turned to Newt. “So. Big Newt, huh?”

-/-

Aziraphale was sitting in bed when his balcony opened. He turned to see the Hood standing in the entryway, silhouetted in the bright moonlight. He cut a rather dashing figure, Aziraphale thought: a dark shadow, clean lines, his sword hanging at his side to break up the shape.

“That will be quite enough drama, my dear,” Aziraphale said, after he’d given himself a moment to enjoy the view. “Come in here and close the door. Imagine if someone should  _ see _ you posing out there, tch! The whole secret will be blown to kingdom come.”

“You never let me have any fun,” Hood grumbled, doing as he was bid and pulling the balcony doors to behind him. “Did I look suitably dashing, angel?”

_ “Very _ dashing,” Aziraphale agreed, getting up and approaching Hood slowly until there was hardly a breath of space between them. Hood’s hands came up to loop around his waist, drawing him closer, and Aziraphale reached up to catch his shoulders instinctively. “But I’d much rather have you in here where I can look at you properly.”

“Well, I’m here now. Look all you like.”

“Hmm, I think I shall.” Aziraphale had kept the light in his chambers low in anticipation of this visit: now he reached up slowly and pushed the namesake hood down, untied the cloth shielding Hood’s eyes from the light. It dropped from his hand without concern while Aziraphale reached up once more, this time caressing his face gently while he looked into the golden eyes his action had revealed. “There you are,” he breathed. “Oh, Crowley, I  _ have _ missed you.”

“And  _ I’ve _ missed sleeping in a bed. Shall we have this reunion somewhere more comfortable, angel?”

“You only love me for my ability to give you a soft place to sleep,” Aziraphale teased, pulling Crowley back with him until he felt the backs of his knees hit his bed, and fell back, letting Crowley follow.

Crowley grinned down at him- “You  _ know _ that’s not true,”- and kissed him soundly.

Fade to black.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone gets all -concern-, Anathema is nineteen here (same as canon), putting Gabriel's lady wife solidly in her twenties. And I will be very interested in finding out whether she's an existing character or someone I have to make up, but that's questions for later. Anyway, point is, Gabriel is a fathead, but not the sort of fathead married to a literal child.


	3. Chapter Two: Wisdom, Council, and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirty five or more years ago, two young men met by chance in a cottage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forget what I said about not having a serial narrative, somewhere between last chapter and this one I thought of one (well, two, now I just gotta find a way to string them together).
> 
> This is a flashback chapter! The boys are in the fourteen/fifteen age range, because I consider fourteen to be the gangliest age and wanted Crowley at his most awkward when Aziraphale looks at him all "I want _that one_". This also explains why they're both so dramatic here; it's practically written into their dna.

-/-

Aziraphale was just contemplating what to do about lunch when the door to the little hut swung open and a young man about his own age sauntered in- at least, Aziraphale assumed so. Said young man wore a hood that shaded his face, and a dark veil over his eyes, making it difficult to gauge his age. 

Whatever his years, he stopped short when he spotted Aziraphale, and after a long moment of apparent floundering, seemed to compose himself and said, “I didn’t know the good Brother was in the habit of entertaining angels.”

A blush screamed into place on Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Ah,” he said eloquently. “Erm.”

“I’m Crowley,” the young man said, and he hadn’t moved from the doorway. “I’m— ah— I’m a friend of Brother Francis. Sort of. Is he about?”

“He’s not, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said, managing to find his tongue. “He’s been called away. I’m Aziraphale.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated, a touch of reverence, and then grinned. “You must be the nephew.”

“The nephew?”

“He said his nephew was going to be coming here. That’s you, right? You look an awfully lot like him. Only without the— you know—“ He mimed Francis’s buckteeth, and Aziraphale couldn’t help the embarrassed giggle that bubbled out at Crowley’s absurd motions.

He sobered his laughter hastily. “That’s  _ quite _ cruel of you. Brother Francis is a good man, a man of God, and appearances are meaningless in the face of good works. You mustn’t make fun.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal.” Crowley sauntered into the hut and over to the table, seating himself as if it was his own home he were in. “If appearances are meaningless, he shouldn’t mind so much, should he?”

“It’s still cruel to make appearances the butt of your joke. We are all of us as God made us— and nothing She creates can be ugly.”

“You really believe that?” Crowley looked as if he were going to make Aziraphale the joke now, but instead he just grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Well, that’s all right, then. Someone’s got to think there’s beauty in stuff like- you know- slugs.”

“Patient fellows, slugs,” Aziraphale said, refusing to rise to his bait. “Making their slow way through life. Humans are altogether too fast at times, you know.”

“Flies? Dirty, nasty, buzzing, biting things- can’t imagine anyone finding flies beautiful.”

“Have you ever looked at one up close? Such fascinating little creatures, and their wings bear such a charming iridescence.”

“And toads?” Crowley was grinning now; Aziraphale wasn’t even sure he was really trying to trap him anymore. All the same, he sniffed haughtily.

“Anyone who cannot see the beauty of a healthy toad is not someone I should enjoy the company of, I think.”

Crowley laughed. “And what about snakes, angel? Does your love for all of God’s creatures extend to snakes, crawling on their bellies, tempting mankind to fall?”

“Oh, snakes are  _ beautiful, _ aren’t they?” He gave a wistful sigh. “There’s one absolutely lovely fellow who lives in Brother Francis’s garden, you know. I had to shoo him away from the bird’s nests last night but I can’t bring myself to drive him away entirely.”

“So you don’t mind if he starves, then?”

“Oh,  _ really _ now. There are plenty of other creatures in the garden for him to prey upon without robbing nests.”

“Ah, so you  _ do _ have preferences among God’s creatures.”

“You’re putting words into my mouth,” Aziraphale said icily. “I’ll thank you not to twist my meaning.” When Crowley merely grinned at him and said nothing more, he went on, “Why did you come here, anyway? Did you need Brother Francis for something?”

He shrugged. “Just. You know. Visiting. D’you know when he’ll be back?”

“He had to go a long way, I’m afraid. But you’re welcome to stay, if you like. I was about to sit down to lunch— you can join me. It will be nice to have company.”

Crowley smiled, a real, genuine smile in place of the teasing grin he’d been using thus far. “All right. I think I will.”

-/-

Lunch dragged on- Aziraphale, Crowley discovered, was a glutton of the highest calibre, and preferred to savour his food, while Crowley inhaled his and then leaned back to watch him, keeping up a rather enjoyable conversation in between bites. Eventually, though, Aziraphale’s plate was clean; he dabbed away a few stray crumbs and looked up, blushing red as a robin’s breast when he realized Crowley was gazing at him quite openly.

“Angel,” Crowley drawled, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

Aziraphale’s blush managed to darken. “I- I suppose that would depend on… what you’re looking at.”

Crowley leaned closer, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “Well?”

“I…” He dropped his gaze to his lap, and then peeked up at Crowley through his eyelashes. “...yes, I suppose I must.”

-/-

Nanny didn’t look up from the stew she was making when Crowley slithered into the hut well after nightfall, but as soon as he’d hung his hood on the hook by the door she addressed him all the same.

“You’re home late.”

“Yes, Nanny. I went to visit Brother Francis.”

“Brother Francis is visiting a friend in another village.”

Crowley didn’t bother asking how she knew that. As everyone in the village learned sooner or later, nothing happened in her steading that Nanny Ashtoreth didn’t know about. He shrugged.

“He was out, yeah. His nephew’s visiting, he invited me to stay for awhile.” Nanny had finally turned; Crowley found himself pinned under unblinking yellow eyes, and felt like she was hearing all the things he didn’t really want to tell her about his day. He shrugged, trying not to shrink away. “We stayed talking awhile. I lost track of time.”

“Is that so.” She turned back to the stew pot and ladled out bowls for the both of them, bringing bowls and bread to the table. “Tell me about this nephew. Handsome, is he?”

Crowley gave up. No one could keep secrets from Nanny, least of all the son she’d brought into this world and who was, by all accounts, her very double in manner and bearing. She knew him too well for secrets. He sighed wistfully. “He’s like an  _ angel, _ Nanny. He’s the most beautiful young man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Nephew to Francis, you said?”

“His sister-son,” Crowley confirmed. “He looks a bit like him, but without the teeth, and much better put together.”

“You aren’t normally one to be taken in by a pretty face.”

“I don’t normally visit fat friars only to find angels in their huts instead,” he countered. He folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on top of them, smiling at just the thought of Aziraphale. “Oh, Nanny. Have you ever been in love?”

“Once, yes. Your father was an angel as well, you know, so I hope yours has more to offer than pretty words and a nice smile. Angels are bastards underneath, once the charm wears off.”

“Aziraphale’s not at all like my father,” Crowley argued. “He’s clever, oh so very clever, and  _ funny. _ You’ll like him, Nanny, I know you will.”

“Very well. Then tomorrow I shall pay him a visit, and we shall sssee.” Her eyes gleamed with her own sureness, and then her expression softened, and she added, “And if the boy hurts you, then  _ that man _ will answer to  _ me.” _

“Yes, Nanny,” Crowley said, and hoped that his mother didn’t scare Aziraphale  _ too _ much. Or hold any of Aziraphale’s actions against his uncle, who Crowley- quite against his mother’s wishes- rather liked. But Nanny had her own grudge on Brother Francis, and anything would be traced back to him somehow, if she could wrangle it.

-/-

Aziraphale didn’t have to ask whether the woman who came to visit him bright and early the next morning was related to Crowley- she was as alike him as a mirror’s image, save for for the obvious age difference between them. Also, Crowley was trailing behind her, his easy saunter a study in contrast against her sure, stern steps.

“Blessings be upon this house,” she said, when Aziraphale let her in. He glanced to Crowley, who gave him a reassuring smile behind the woman’s back. “I am Nanny Ashtoreth. Is Francis here?”

“He’s not, I’m afraid. Are you a friend of his, then?”

“Of a sort. An Adversarial sort.”

“Adversarial?” Aziraphale squeaked, and looked at Crowley once more for explanation.

“Nanny is a Witch,” Crowley explained. “She’s also my mother. She wanted to meet you.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, eloquent as ever. “Erm. Why?”

“Because this is my steading, and I will know everyone that lives within its boundaries.” She gave him a knowing look. “And because when my son comes home mooning about some angel he’s just met, it is my duty as his mother to ensure he isn’t being trifled with.”

Aziraphale squeaked, and Crowley made a noise a bit like a garbage disposal being unclogged, though no one present was capable of making such a comparison. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand, made a noise that could  _ generously _ be interpreted as ‘Willyouexcuseusforamoment’, and dragged him outside.

Once they were outside with the door between them and Nanny, Crowley straightened, but didn’t let go of Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale, for his part, stood glaring at Crowley.

“You  _ told _ her?”

“Course I did. She’s my  _ mother, _ and it’s not like I could have kept it from her anyway. Knows everything, she does. You’ll understand once you get to know her. Was- was I not supposed to say?”

“Oh- oh, I don’t know.” Aziraphale fretted a bit, fussing his belt with his free hand. “I’m just- I-” He sighed, and pulled his hand free so he could fuss both of them. “Your mother is very intimidating. I wasn’t expecting her to appear on the doorstep first thing after breakfast and  _ glare _ at me.”

“I… well, I suppose I could have called ahead to warn you,” Crowley admitted. “I’m really sorry, angel, she’s  _ like _ that, does what she wants- I know she’s intimidating, but, you know, she’s- she means well?”

“I suppose…”

Crowley grinned reassuringly, and grabbed Aziraphale’s hands, clasping both between his own. “Please come back inside and talk to her. I’m sure she’ll like you, nearly as much as I do, once she talks to you. Once she knows you’re everything I said.”

“Oh…” That ever-present blush was returning now. “What- what exactly was it you said, then?”

Crowley dropped his gaze, blushing as well, and let the fingers of one hand snake slowly up Aziraphale’s arm. “W-well, I said that. You’re  _ clever _ and- and funny, and, and you’re  _ beautiful, _ and you. You know. _Kind.”_

“Crowley…”

Behind them, the door opened, and Nanny emerged, apparently tired of waiting.

“Come along, Crowley. We have chores to attend. It was lovely to meet you, Aziraphale. Perhaps in our next meeting we might exchange actual words.”

And swept off down the path to the village, not checking that Crowley was behind her. He gave Aziraphale a hopeful smile.

“I’ll come back,” he said quietly. “When I can. And you can meet her in little doses. You’ll like her once you get to know her, I promise.”

“Crowley!”

“Coming, Nanny!” He grinned nervously, and brought Aziraphale’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I’ll be back, angel. Goodbye for now.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically borrowed Discworld witches for Nanny's role here. Her rivalry with Brother Francis is because they play very similar roles in their community, and also ust. Crowley is convinced that the only reason they don't know each other in the Biblical sense is because Brother Francis has taken a vow of chastity and Nanny Ashtoreth has taken a vow of never letting another man touch her again.
> 
> (How accurate he is in his judgment, well. We shall see, shan't we?)

**Author's Note:**

> Who wants to see more from me? Or chat about my fics? Or squint at me for picking up so many wips? Then toddle over to tumblr and hit me up @grifalinas! I'll be the guy making terrible jokes at my own expense. See y'all there, I hope!


End file.
